“You eat meat, right?” asks Jason Momoa as we pass through his makeshift Toronto—a three-story Victorian—to the backyard, where two ribs are yellowing and smoking over a glowing grill.
“Here, get one,” he said, snatching the piece of meat, a childlike smile smearing his hairy face. The sharp salute sounds from medieval, classic Momoa – Dothraki expressly – so I do it Khal Drogo He guides you, holding a burning French rib bone long enough to take a selfie.
Examining the photo, Momoa issues the following directive. “We can’t publish this,” he says poignantly. “You can see the houses behind us.” It’s strange to hear a man who embodies nomadic warlords and towering superheroes acknowledge such precaution. But inadvertently disclose your exact location to 16 million followers on Instagram No, whether he’s hanging here or at his actual home in Topanga Canyon in Los Angeles.
There are other photos he’s eager to share, like an old Land Rover ant that was just secured in a swap for two old-fashioned ones. Harley Davidson Helicopters are a rare trade of his collection. “I usually stock up on everything when it comes to bikes, trucks, and cars.”
One would equally guess from the ’36’, ’37 and ’39 Harley Knuckleheads parked on the ground. “These are just my choppers. My other bike is on the way here,” he admits. “I love them all — knuckles, pans, shovels. They are all different, they all look great, and they are all great.”
And though he longs for the sound “when you start the bike and the engine screeches right in your face,” the self-proclaimed “gas and oil man” knows it’s a guilty pleasure. as a fierce defender of ocean health, converts to electricity. “A lot of my trucks have been converted to electronic vehicles,” he says. “I use solar power, and I love Harley’s electric LiveWire. You twist the throttle and you jump to 100 mph in three or four seconds. It’s a completely different sport, and there is nothing about it except – Bravo!”